Just Another Day in the Toilet
by a nuther
Summary: Myrtle is used to being lonely, used to being tortured by Peeves . . . but today is definitely not just another day in the toilet. Please review!


Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but nothing else.  
  
  
  
  
Another gloomy day in the toilet. Myrtle was surrounded by the dank, dripping porcelain. The ghost girl was filled with moisture, which was an unpleasant sensation. Nothing that she had felt when she was alive compared to it. It was dark inside the toilet, not completely black, but a dull, brooding greyish brown. Ugh. When she was alive, Myrtle had been fond of anything bright and colorful. But greys seemed to go with death.   
  
  
Myrtle tried to stifle a sob, but failed. Soon she was wailing at the top of her lungs. It was so lonely in here. She knew that her crying was the main thing preventing students from keeping her company, but she couldn't help it. 'They call me Moaning Myrtle,' she thought bitterly. She had known it for years. Years that were filled with darkness, wetness, lonliness, and above all, the sound of her own constant sobbing. It was rather ironic, to tell the truth; Myrtle cried because students didn't come by and chat, and students wouldn't come by and chat because Myrtle was always crying. It was just a dreary cycle.  
  
  
'Why did I have to become a ghost,' Myrtle sniffled. 'All I wanted to do was live and die like normal people. I missed out on everything that is good. I never got married, never had kids, never had sex!' She gasped; she was a good little girl ghost, and she didn't usually think like that. 'I don't think I even ever had a boyfriend,' she though miserably. 'Of course, it might have been to long ago to remember.' She started bawling again.  
  
  
A few corrider's away, Peeves heard her cries. He had been writing obscene phrases on a blackboard in an empty classroom, but toruring poor Myrtle sounded like much more fun. A moment later, he came flying into the girl's bathroom, cackling wickedly. He started throwing rolls of toilet paper at the weeping ghost.  
  
  
Moaning Myrtle's wails grew steadily louder. "No one was nice to me during my life, and no one is nice to me now that I'm dead!" she howled. "People have always thrown things at me, but never soggy toilet paper before!" Silver tears were cascading down her translucent face. If she had been alive, her eyes would have been red and swollen. As it was, they only looked slightly wetter than the rest of her.  
  
  
Peeves was having fun. Myrtle was always such an easy target; she didn't talk back, she didn't try to hurt him, she didn't even move. And her sobs seemed to literally goad him on. The louder she cried, the more excited Peeves became. He was now hurling bars of soap through Myrtle's crouching figure. When the soap ran out, Peeves dragged a bucket of soapy water that Filch had left next to the shower over to Myrtle's stall. He picked it up, and dumped it directly onto Myrtle's head. She didn't move, but Peeves was sure that her sobs could be heard throughout the castle. He chuckled gleefully.  
  
  
Finally, the water was all used up, there were no more bars of soap, or any toilet paper. Peeves hovered gently in the air, contemplating his next move. Myrtle was quieting down a bit--now that would never do! Peeves happened to glance up at that moment, and by an amazing piece of luck, spied an unusually large spiders web up in the corner. There were three or four spiders peacefully sharing the same home. Peeves had never used spiders before in his torture sessions; it might be interesting to watch the effect.   
  
  
Silently, Peeves floated up into the corner, and grasped the spiders loosely in his hand. He couldn't kill them off before they had done their job--better keep them alive and squirming. Working hard to supress his usual cackle, and thereby spoil his nice surprise, Peeves moved over to Myrtle's toilet. When he was perched directly above her, she looked up and saw him. Her eyes moved swiftly toward his hand. And when she saw what he was holding, she let out a shrill scream, surpassing in volume any that Peeves had heard before. And believe me, he had heard a lot.  
  
  
Peeves was so taken aback that he lost one single second before dropping the spiders into Myrtle's misty hair. But that one second proved to be crucial, for in that instant Myrtle sped straight out of her toilet, and ended up in the air next to Peeves. Where Peeves had dropped the spiders, Myrtle was no more. Right away, she started berating him at the top of her voice.  
  
  
"How could you do this to me! Don't answer that, I know that you are an unfeeling bastard that doesn't take any pity on anyone! But spiders!" Myrtle inserted another shrill screech, causing Peeves to cover his ears with his hands. "I am terrified of spiders! Go ahead, throw toilet paper at me, dirty water, bars of soap, anything that you like! But not spiders! And now look! You've contaminated my toilet! Do you know that I have spent the last thirty years of my life--my death, I mean--in that toilet! Thirty years! And you go ahead and dump spiders in there as if that doesn't count for anything! So now I need to find a new home! All because of you! I will never forgive you for this!" She hesitated for a second, obviously considering her next words. Peeves had just tentatively uncovered his ears, when she started again, sending his hand flying to his ears once more. "Damn you to hell, Peeves!" she finished, before breaking down into a torrent of sobs. Really, she was rather astonished at her own daring; as I said before, she was a good girl, and she never used language like that.  
  
  
Peeves lifted his hands from his ears, and realized that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled loudly. Then he gently put one hand up to his ears, and felt around them. Yes, they were still there, and seemed intact. That was a relief.  
  
  
For the first time in his life--er, death--Peeves found himself at a loss as to what to do. Somehow, throwing sticks at Myrtle no longer seemed appropriate. As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself rather impressed by her speech. He had planned on Myrtle spending the rest of eternity in that toilet, but obviously she had different plans. 'No,' he corrected himself, 'I made her need different plans. Without me, she might really have been stuck there forever.' His chest swelled with pride. He had done his first good deed in years. Now if only Myrtle saw it that way . . .  
  
  
Peeves glided over to where Myrtle was hanging midair. He hesitated, and then gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "Myrtle," he said, and his voice didn't hold its normal taunting tone, "I'm sorry." Another first--wait, did he just apologize? 'Poltergeists don't apologize!' Peeves told himself, scandalized. 'Why, I'm disgracing my name!'   
  
  
But although Peeves may have wished to take it back, it was too late now. Myrtle turned to face him, calming down a bit. "Really?" she whimpered.   
  
  
"Ummm . . ." Peeves writhed under her steadfast gaze. "Umm, yeah." He could feel himself flushing.  
  
  
"Why did you do it then?" Myrtle asked sternly, no longer crying, but not yelling either.  
  
  
"Well, it was supposed to be fun . . . not for you, of course, for me!" Peeves replied, his eyes regaining some of their wicked sparkle.  
  
  
"Hmmph," was the only reply that Myrtle deigned to give.  
  
  
"But Myrtle," Peeves continued, "You can't really have wanted to spend eternity in that toilet?!" Peeves wrinkled his nose in disgust.  
  
  
Myrtle appeared to be pondering his question. "No . . ." she said slowly, almost reluctantly. "I guess that wouldn't be too fun." For the first time, Peeves saw her give him a tiny smile. And then he asked her something that was probably even worse than apologising, something that he had never seen himself doing in a million years . . .  
  
  
He leaned over to her. "Do you want to come with me and play tricks on the students, and on poor old Filch?"  
  
  
Myrtle thought for a minute. She remembered Filch, who had made her life as a student miserable. He had always seemed to have a peculiar grudge against her, and gave her innumerable detentions for bizarre reasons. And the students, they too had contributed her suffering, always taunting her and jeering . . . of course, it wouldn't be the same batch, but they would just have to do. And then there was that red-headed girl who had heartlessly flung books through her a few years back . . .  
  
  
She turned to Peeves, and this time her smile was wider. If it had been anyone else, it might have been mistaken for a grin. "Okay," she said simply.  
  
Peeves gasped in horror. Never, never had he thought that she would accept. Moaning Myrtle yelling was one thing, and Moaning Myrtle out of her toilet was another, but Moaning Myrtle playing jokes . . . was just impossible.  
  
  
Nevertheless, Peeves handed her a batch of sticks. "Just throw them," he instructed her.  
  
  
"Naturally," she replied, slightly annoyed. "What else would I do with them? Rub them together to start a fire?" And with that, she floated out of the girls bathroom for the first time in thirty years, with Peeves trailing behind her.  
  
  
  
  
Argus Filch couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him was Peeves, wielding a stack of sticks. Nothing that unusual . . . if it was just Peeves. He closed his eyes for a second, willing them to tell him the truth. After all, he was getting old, and Professor Dumbledore had been offering to do a Sight Charm on him for a while . . .  
  
  
Crack. "Gotcha!" he heard a voice squeal, a voice that sounded a bit higher than Peeves's. A stick had just hit him over the head and snapped in half. Filch opened his eyes with a start. She was still there. Hadn't she been living in a toilet for the past thirty years, wailing the whole time? The student's called her Moaning Myrtle! Yet here she was, as happy as the best of them, and apparently a great deal happier than most ghosts, except perhaps the Fat Friar. And now she was following in Peeves's footsteps. "Great," Filch muttered to himself. "Just what I need . . . two poltergeists."   
  
  
Another stick hit him on the forehead. He could hear Peeves's gleeful cackle mingling with Myrtle's high-pitched giggles. He didn't believe it . . . he wasn't feeling too well . . . maybe it was time he ended up in St. Mungo's . . . he knew a doctor there . . . he was getting dizzy . . . "I don't belive this," he murmured. "Mrs. Norris, can you tell me what is happening?"  
  
  
And suddenly, everything was black.  
  
  
That was how Filch came to be found lying on the floor in a dead faint two hours later, with Mrs. Norris sitting next to him.  
  
  
  
  
After four hours or so of successful mischief-making, Peeves and Myrtle returned to her bathroom. They seated themselves on the sink. "You know, Myrtle," Peeves said thoughtfully after a minute of silence, "You're not that bad."   
  
  
"I know," Myrtle replied. "Thanks for showing me around . . . it was fun!" And to his complete surprise, Peeves found himself enveloped in a hug. It felt kind of nice . . . although neither of them were really solid, his skin tingled where she touched it. After a few seconds, she reluctantly released him. "Maybe we could do it again?" she whispered hopefully in his ear.   
  
  
"Yeah, maybe."   
  
  
"You know, you could join me in my toilet sometime," Myrtle said, inching closer to him. "Not that terrible one with the spiders, of course." She shuddered involuntarily, and Peeves placed a comforting arm around her shoulder.   
  
  
"Is there room?" he asked dubiously.   
  
  
"Plenty!" Myrtle swooped out from under his arm, and dived head first into a toilet. And, after a moments hesitation, Peeves followed her.   
  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
I had to repost this because the summary no longer made sense after the secondary genres were added. Also, I fixed a few spelling/grammar errors. I hope you didn't mind! 


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